When Prince Ember said farewell to Creeping Shadow and stepped into the
Elf’s house, he found himself in a curious room whose walls were grey
with ash, whose floor was covered so thick with it, that his feet sank
into it, and made no sound. It was as if he trod on softest down.
In the middle of the room stood the Elf, with pudgy hand extended.
“Welcome, good Prince,” he said heartily. “You come on the business of
the Shadow Witch, for I know the knock of her servant, Creeping Shadow.
What is it that you desire?”
“I am on my way to deliver the Shadow Witch,” the Prince made answer,
taking his hand. “The Wise One has bade me ask of you a certain
marvelous Cloak of Ash, to conceal me from my enemies. He says that here
only is the secret of its making known, and that you will not refuse to
provide me with it.”
“The Wise One has spoken truly,” returned the Elf, “but he has doubtless
told you also that you must wait while this Cloak is woven especially
for you.”
“That he has,” replied Prince Ember. “But let it be done quickly, I beg
of you, for who can tell what the Shadow Witch may suffer at the hands
of her brother if my coming be long delayed.”
“Not a moment shall be lost,” the Elf assured him. Still holding him by
the hand, he drew him to a narrow door at the farther end of the room.
He opened it, and revealed beyond it the Prince saw a vast chamber,
filled with elves hurrying silently to and fro on tasks strange to him.
The moment their master entered with Prince Ember, every elf stood still
ready to hear and obey whatever command might be given to them.
“Where is the Weaver of the Cloak?” inquired the Elf. “There is work for
him to do.”
Instantly a very ancient elf separated himself from his companions, and
came to stand before the Elf of the Borderland. “I am ready, master,” he
said.
“The Cloak is to be for this Prince,” the Elf told him. “Use your best
skill in the weaving, so that it may be potent against his enemies, for
much depends upon it.”
“It will not fail him, master,” responded the Weaver confidently. His
keen old eyes swept the Prince from head to foot. He needed to take no
other measure. Then he turned to a dim loom beside the wall, and
standing before it, he began to spread the fairy warp under the watchful
eye of the Elf. As he did so the elves came hurrying noiselessly with
the magic ash which was to fill it.
Deftly the Weaver began to weave, crooning the mystic weaving-song
meanwhile, so that the magic of its words might sink into every part of
the Cloak, and make its power certain. He feared not to weave it under
the eyes of him who should receive it, for he knew well that he who
wears the Cloak, may see it woven, and hear the song, but no sooner has
the Cloak fallen upon his shoulders than he forgets what his eyes had
beheld and his ears heard. Thus the secret of the ancient Weaver remains
with the elves of the Borderland.
Steadily the Cloak of Ash grew under the skilful hands of the Weaver,
steadily the Prince watched the shuttle come and go. Never once did the
ancient Weaver rest; never once did he cease to sing his mystic song,
nor did the elves pause as they came and went, bringing the magic ash
for the Cloak’s fashioning.
At last the moment came when the Weaver’s shuttle stopped, the song
ceased and the elves stood still. The Elf turned to the Prince. “The
Cloak is finished,” he said.
He bent down and lifted it soft and silvery from the loom, and Prince
Ember stretched eager hands to receive it.
[Illustration: Prince Ember stretched eager hands to receive it.]
“Give heed to my words,” the Elf admonished him, as he delivered it to
him. “In the Cave of Darkness only will you be endangered by the spells
of the Wizard himself. There only he has power, and he never leaves its
shelter and the weapons of enchantment which it contains. But in the
lands without he has powerful and evil friends, who will not be slow to
help him against his enemies if he desires it. From all but one of these
the Cloak will conceal you.”
The Elf paused for a moment and then went on more earnestly. “Though
your foes will not behold you, yet you must be on your guard against
them, for who can say what traps they may set for you, what snares may
await you. Beware, therefore, of the Ash Goblin. He is small of
stature, but he cannot safely be despised, for he is very cunning. He
will not only assist the Wizard gladly because he hates his sister, but
for some grudge, also, that he bears to the dwellers in the Land of
Fire, he will not fail to wreak his spite on any who comes from thence.”
“I will not forget your warning,” Prince Ember promised him.
“Beware, also, of Curling Smoke,” the Elf continued. “None more wicked
and dreadful than he inhabits the lands you must pass through. He
travels far and wide, and because Prince Radiance lately conquered and
scattered him by the power of his Sword of Flames, he has vowed to be
revenged upon one and all who enter here from the land of the good Fire
Fairies.”
Again Prince Ember assured him that he would remember.
The Elf drew closer to him and laid his hand upon the Prince’s arm.
“Beware,” he adjured him solemnly, “Beware of the Wind in the Chimney.
Against him only the Cloak may not protect you. His eyes are keen to
pierce disguises. His hands are strong to break down spells. See to it
that he does not snatch from you in an unguarded moment this sheltering
Cloak.”
Once more the Prince gave his promise, and stretching his hands in
gratitude to the giver of so priceless a treasure, poured out his
thanks.
But the Elf checked him. “Speak not of it,” he protested kindly. “The
elves of the Borderland rejoice to have a part in any noble undertaking.
Only succeed, and we are well repaid.”
“The Wise One has said that I shall be victorious,” declared the Prince
confidently. “And when my task is done, and the Shadow Witch has
returned in freedom to her own land, I shall preserve as my chief
treasure this marvelous Cloak, which you have been at such pains to
weave for me.”
The Elf smiled and shook his head. “Not so,” he answered. “None takes
the Cloak of Ash from the Borderland.”
“Then I will return it safe to your hands,” the Prince assured him.
“There will be no need,” replied the Elf, “for the Cloak perishes when
its work is done.”
With these words he led him from the dim room where the marvel had been
wrought, and brought him to the outer threshold of his house. There the
Prince bade him farewell.
“Good fortune go with you,” responded the friendly Elf in a cautious
undertone. “Put on the Cloak now, and go forth.”
In obedience to his words, Prince Ember threw the Cloak about him and
fastened it securely. As its soft and delicate folds enveloped him, the
Cloak became invisible at the same time that the Prince himself became
fully concealed by it.
He lifted the latch and opened the door and passed silently out into the
Borderland.
[Illustration]